


Icarus

by sunflowerbright



Series: Hotel California [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Depression, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerbright/pseuds/sunflowerbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Are you playing some kind of joke on me?” Grantaire asks, feeling completely bewildered. “Because it’s not really funny?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>or, the one where everyone remembers <i>but</i> Grantaire, and things get a little heated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> part 3 of _'Hotel California'_ , and picks up right where _'roses red'_ and _'high end halls'_ left us.

”What are you talking about?”

”The Rebellion… our…” Combeferre is at a loss for words. Grantaire can feel everyone staring at him, and he’s used to that, used to their eyes flickering between Enjolras and him once the two of them really get started on an argument, but this feels different, and Grantaire has no idea what is going on. “Grantaire, 1832!” Combeferre insists. “The Barricade!”

“Are you playing some kind of joke on me?” Grantaire asks, feeling completely bewildered. “Because it’s not really funny?”

He looks from Combeferre out into the room, and _everyone_ is there, everyone from Jehan to Gavroche, and their eyes are filled with confusion and something akin to horror. He tries to avoid looking at Enjolras, but ends up doing so anyway, and then finds he can’t look away again.

Enjolras looks _stricken,_ to the bone, and Grantaire feels the look settle on him like a dead weight, because he just knows he is the one that put it there, that made the man he loves look like someone just reached in and ripped out his heart.

If only he knew _what he had done._

“I’m not joking!” Combeferre sounds agitated, frustrated in a way that Combeferre _never_ is, and Grantaire flinches a little, he can’t help it, and the doctor’s face falls at the motion. “No, I’m sorry…”

“Combeferre,” Its Jehan, who is standing up from his place beside Courfeyrac and moving to the middle of the room, closer to them. “I don’t think Grantaire remembers.”

Oh god, what is happening? He feels like a deer in headlights, inevitable crash about to occur, system failure, error, prepare to evacuate. His eyes snap back to Combeferre.

“Shit, it’s not your birthday, is it?” he asks, and someone, possibly Courfeyrac or Eponine or Bahorel, snorts in amusement, before quickly quieting down again, as if sounds like that are banned from now on.

Or just banned in the wake of whatever horrible thing Grantaire has done this time.

Combeferre is ignoring him completely however, he’s looking at Jehan instead. “What do you mean he doesn’t remember? How can he not – we all do! We all…” he trails off, eyes searching the crowd. No-one offers up an answer, until Eponine stands up.

“Maybe we should take this somewhere quieter,” she says. “I’ll take Grantaire back to the flat and explain it to him there.”

“One of us should be there as well,” Bossuet immediately protests, and oh, it is so nice of him to defend him or whatever it is he is doing, and Grantaire is sure he would appreciate it if he had any idea of what was going on.

“Are you all on drugs?” he asks, just in general, but it seems to go unheard.

“Yes,” Courfeyrac says. “I should…”

“I’ll go,” Jehan says. “I knew him before any of you did, back then. I can probably explain more.”

“No way,” Bahorel says. “I was the one who…”

“Jehan is right,” Musichetta is the one to interrupt now. “Grantaire used to paint Jehan; they’ve known each other the longest. And he’s also the one least likely to start shouting at him,” she adds, and looks directly at Enjolras with eyes that could kill, and oh, the very small, self-respecting part of Grantaire wants to kiss her for that, but mostly he’s just at a loss for how to react to this situation in general.

“Could you all please stop talking like I’m not here?” he says it louder this time, and finally there’s a reaction, even if it is just Eponine marching up and dragging him outside, Jehan following after as quickly as he can.

They do get back in the flat, which is deserted because Gavroche and Azelma was down at the party of weird, and Eponine assures him that the two kids are staying with Combeferre while they get this sorted _(whatever ‘this’ is,_ Grantaire still has no idea _),_ and before he can hardly even blink, he’s on the sofa with a blanket over his legs, Jehan pushing a warm mug of tea into his hand.

“It’s Jasmine,” he says, and Grantaire mutters a thank-you and burns his tongue drinking it too quickly. Jehan and Eponine have both seated themselves on the low coffee-table, right across from him, still staring intently as if they expect him to burst into flames any second now.

Grantaire blows on his tea, waiting for it to cool. His friends continue with the staring.

“Um…” he says after a while. “Am I supposed to _guess_ what’s got you all winded up like pigs in a bacon-factory?”

“No,” Eponine says, and Jehan looks all worried again. “But what you come up with might be fun.”

“Eponine,” Jehan admonishes, but Grantaire is already busy laying out his initial theories.

“The government brainwashed you,” he says. “Because I’m sure that’s in Enjolras little black book of ‘Bad Things the Government Is Doing’.”

“We’re not brainwashed,” Eponine says.

“I really hope we’re not brainwashed,” Jehan mumbles, looking slightly worried at the thought. His gaze shifts to Eponine. “Do you want to start?” he asks. “I mean… I’m not sure how to... do this.”

“Let’s go for the sudden reveal,” she says, face stone-cold, and oh god, what’s going to happen now, is someone dying, is _he_ dying, are they all dying, shit, when did he start to channel Joly and Courfeyrac so much?

“We’ve all been reincarnated from the early Nineteenth-century,” Eponine says, and really, she should be one of those people voicing announcements on trains or GPS’s, because she sounds so calm and clear about it all. “We all participated in the June Rebellion of 1832 – or well, most of us did – and died there.”

Grantaire looks his oldest, dearest friend dead in the eye. She doesn’t even blink.

“That really is not a funny joke,” he says, and Eponine groans while Jehan reaches forward to take one of Grantaire’s hands between his.

“It’s not a joke, Grantaire,” Jehan’s voice is, as always so kind and understanding, and Grantaire feel something inside him shift just a little bit. He can already see no point to this joke, and Jehan is the last person to keep it going. “I know it’s hard to believe – it was for us as well. But we remember it, we all do. Individually, it came back to us, and we know it to be true.”

“You umm…” he closes his eyes, looking away from the two of them for a little while. “This isn’t… no. Okay. You know what? This is childish and stupid, and I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I think I’m just going to leave now. Like, right now.” He stands up, but Eponine grabs his arm.

“Grantaire, please!” she says. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not,” he grits out. “I just… I leave for almost two weeks and I get back to this?” he wrenches himself free. “I need some air.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jehan offers, but Grantaire tells him no, perhaps a bit too sharply (he’ll feel horrible for that, later), getting his jacket and leaving.

It feels strange, storming out of his own flat, because usually that is his destination after storming out from somewhere else. He hesitates on the street, wondering where to go, but then he gets out his phone and calls Cosette.

“Hi,” he tells her voice-mail, because of course she hadn’t picked up, damn it all. “Um, so… I’m freaking out and this is pushy bordering on clingy, and I just… I need a place to stay. Just for a few hours. Because I can’t... be alone right now, and I can’t… be with the others, and I just… It’s fine if you don’t want to, we don’t know each other that well. But just text me back once you know if I can come squat or whatever? Or you can meet me in the park if that’s more convenient, I know your dad is sort of the King of Protection or something. Um.” He hits the ‘end’-button before he can babble further. His finger has hardly even pressed it, before the phone is ringing again. It’s Combeferre, and he picks it up before he can even think about it.

“Yeah?”

“Grantaire! Where are you? Are you okay? Did you… could you come over?”

 _Fuck_. Grantaire feels everything inside him freeze. Gavroche and Azelma are with Combeferre, and if something have happened to them…

“Azelma is worried,” Combeferre explains, and really, the doctor needs to work on his bedside manner, you don’t just drop bombshells on people, you ease them into it, and you really explain properly before letting over-active imaginations believe that a nuclear bomb has hit two of the most important people in his life. “She thinks she can explain a little better than Jehan and her… no, Azelma, I’m not calling her that! She thinks she’ll do it better than Eponine, anyway. Jehan called as well, he’s freaking out, but he didn’t want to call you, said you wouldn’t pick it up. Can I tell him you’re alright?”

“You can tell him I’m alright,” Grantaire confirms. “And you can say the same to Azelma, and I’ll see her tomorrow, okay?”

“No, Grantaire…” he’s about to hang up, but then there’s a loud, rustling noise, and a new voice breathes through the line.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, and said man freezes in place, everything inside him settling and ripping itself apart in chaos at the same time.

“Hi,” he gets out, sounding like he’s choking. Fuck’s sake, Enjolras wasn’t even supposed to be at Combeferre’s, why was he there? Why was he speaking to Grantaire now? Of all people…

“Grantaire, please come back.”

He almost faints right there on the sidewalk. He doesn’t reply, because he _can’t,_ he can only make some kind of noise that is vaguely human: his brain is broken, he’s sure of it. Enjolras just said _please_. Enjolras just said please _to him_ , and not in a condescending, sarcastic ‘please go take yourself somewhere else before I set myself and everything in sight on fire’-way.

“Grantaire?”

“I’m…” no, he’s forgotten how to do words. They’re just gone.

“Let us try to explain this, please,” the other man continues as if what he’s saying isn’t messing up everything inside Grantaire. “You can get over here, and we can try to figure all of this out.”

“Have you all lost your collective minds?” Grantaire finally finds his voice, and of course, this is what comes out. Because this cannot be a joke, _it’s not funny_ , and also, Enjolras seems in on it, and Enjolras doesn’t have time for jokes, not when people are being oppressed worldwide, how could you be so foolish to even think it, which must of course mean that they’ve all been smoking something funny in his absence and are now having a shared delusion.

He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but most of all, he doesn’t understand why Enjolras is taking time out of his day to call him, to make sure he isn’t wandering lost and confused around, why he’s being calm and pleading and wants to talk to Grantaire for Grantaire, and not to rip him apart piece by piece.

He doesn’t know how to react, so he lashes out.

“Why do you even care?” he snaps, loud enough for a couple walking across the street to throw him nervous looks. He ducks into an alley-way, clutching the phone in his hand like it’s the only life-line he has (he really wants to throw it as far away as he can, but he’s not strong enough to do that). “Why should you care at all whether I believe you or not?”

“Grantaire, please…”

“No, you’ve made it perfectly clear what you think about me,” _I can never imagine anyone ever having the slightest inkling of love for you!_ “And I don’t think I’d like to sit down just to hear more.” He hangs up.

Fuck, he actually hangs up. On Enjolras. After basically telling him that he never wants to talk to him again.

Oh god, Grantaire _hates_ his life.

He’s busy wondering where the closest bridge to throw himself off of is located, when Cosette calls him back.

“Do you remember my address?” is the first thing out of her mouth, and okay, Grantaire kind of appreciates that she cuts to the heart of the matter like that. It’s sexy and authoritative _and he is still freaking out._

“Yeah,” he says. Eponine sounds hurried and determined, and he wonders what’s going on. She must have something to freak out about as well. Maybe she found a split end in her hair or a personality flaw like a weird obsession with coffee-beans. He’s glad they can help each other through the pain then.

“Are you close or should I come get you? Because I can come get you, I really can.”

Grantaire is fairly certain no-one’s ever been this eager to see him, and it’s exciting only so far as it is incredibly frightening.

“No, it’s, uhm, fine, I can get a cab… I’ll be there in ten.”

He’s there in eight, a cab being surprisingly easy to find, but Cosette is already hovering by the door, pulling him into a hug as soon as he gets in through the door.

“Oh my god,” she mumbles into his shoulder, holding him crushingly close (no, really, she’s strong for someone her size, his ribs are going to be bruised. Bahorel will be so proud). “I’m still freaking out,” she says, and he pats her shoulder, hugging back. “How are you?”

“Alright,” he says, burying his face in her hair. “My friends have gone insane or joined some weird cult and I just told off the man I love, so maybe that doesn’t quite cover it.”

Cosette pulls away and looks up at him.

“What do you mean they’ve gone insane? Oh, did you see Marius?” she asks, for some ungodly reason. “I wanted to… I’ve been meaning to get to him, but there hasn’t been time. I remembered, you knew him now as well, and of course I realized who you were, because he used to tell so many stories of you. He missed you so much, all of you. It’s so strange, that I should meet you, and then remember. Like fate,” she grins suddenly, smile wide and bright. She really is beautiful like this, even as worry still clouds her eyes. “I’m just… I’m so confused, and I don’t know what to do, and papa isn’t helping either, because of course he remembers as well, and he’s suddenly become even more over-protective, as if that could be even possible, I mean, 1830 was bad enough… Grantaire, why are you so pale?”

“I think I’m going to faint,” he tells her, but then manfully manages to stay conscious as she leads him to a chair in the kitchen. He feels a little steadier as soon as he sits down, but only a little, really. He ends up burying his face in his hands, elbows supported on the table, heart racing like a galloping horse about to win the big prize.

“I just need a minute,” he says, and hears the tell-tale sign of Cosette getting up to make tea.

Her and Jehan really needs to meet each other. They could open a tea-shop together and braid each other’s hair. Jehan could recite poetry all day long and Cosette could help Jehan dress better.

Grantaire is having trouble focusing.

Cosette sets his second cup of tea tonight on the table before him. “Jasmine,” she announces and Grantaire can’t help but snort.

“Snap out of it, I need you to talk to me,” she says, and her voice is not unkind, it’s telling him to tell her if she’s going too far, if he needs more time, it’s telling him that she’s getting worried and wants to help. Grantaire suddenly feels like crying, seriously crying, because he’s tired and hurt and frustrated, and he has no semblance of what is going on. It’s like falling fast towards the ground, and instead of your parachute suddenly not working anymore, it turns out there wasn’t even one there to begin with.

“I got back to the others,” he mumbles, peeking out between his fingers at Cosette. “And they were all there, and they were all speaking crazy nonsense, just like you were just now, about eighteenhundred-and-I-don’t-even-know, and June or something, and reincarnation, and I just thought… I really don’t know what I thought, what to think, in a situation like that, and I just left, I wanted to get away, and then I get here and…”

“And I’m talking about it too.”

“You don’t even _know_ them. Unless you do, and they hired you as a spy or something. Gavroche would totally do that. Did Gavroche hire you?”

“Gavroche is Eponine’s little brother, isn’t he?”

_“How do you even know that?”_

Cosette licks her lips, looking nervous. “Because he was her little brother in 1832 as well.”

“Oh, _for fuck’s sake_.”

“I know.”

“You…”

“Grantaire, there is absolutely no reason why you should believe me, or even your friends, because it’s not rational and it doesn’t make sense, but I am not lying to you, I swear, and neither are they, and they’re probably freaking out right now…”

“I’ve got two texts from Combeferre and about fifteen from Azelma.”

“Azelma?”

“Eponine’s sister.”

“Eponine has a sister?”

“Yeah, I guess she isn’t some reincarnated marvel like the rest of us. Or Marius just forgot to mention her.”

“You’re really freaking out, aren’t you?”

“Cosette,” he whispers then, because if he speaks too loudly be might break something (more than it already is). “Do you think I can’t remember, because there’s something wrong with me?”

She stares at him, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she says, and he loves her for being honest. He really does.

 

*

 

He gets Cosette to call Marius, and oh my, isn’t he just the matchmaker. Although according to Cosette, her and Marius had survived whatever it was that killed the lot of them, and gotten married, which really made Grantaire want to lie down – so that is exactly what he does, curling up on the sofa.

He wonders what it must feel like, having two lives in your head. They must feel like they’re going insane. And the way he’d acted probably hadn’t helped a lot.

God, he’d been a complete bastard. He fishes out his phone and hurriedly answers a few of the texts, scrolling through them because suddenly there are a lot, a few missed calls as well and…

There is one missed call from Enjolras. The name is practically screaming at him from the screen. Grantaire stares back at it, listening to Cosette’s laughter in the background. She’s talking to Marius, and things seem to be going quite smoothly, which is hilarious, considering it’s _Marius,_ who wouldn’t know what smooth was if it came sliding in on skates, doing wild gymnastics right in front of him.

He calls Enjolras back, and fuck, this may be the bravest thing he has ever done in his life.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

Enjolras picks up.

“Are you okay?” he asks, probably expecting some drunken mess on the other line. Ah, normalcy. Grantaire almost wants to go ask Cosette’s scary father (who he still hasn’t even seen, is he lurking in some creepy corner of the house?) if he can go break in some of that expensive scotch he can see from here.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m with a friend.”

Silence. Then, “Are you sure you’re okay?” Enjolras asks again. Grantaire sighs.

“Freaking out a little. Are you not freaking out? You’re the one that remembers wearing like, waistcoats and cravats and top-hats. Did people wear top-hats back then?” Enjolras could totally pull a top-hat off. Maybe Courfeyrac as well. Eponine would look like a sexy magician, and it is definitely an idea he needs to lay out for her. She would love it.

In-between freaking out about past lives, of course.

“I’m… dealing,” Enjolras answers, and Grantaire cringes, because him bringing up their horrible argument before had probably not helped at all.

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier,” he quickly says. It might be a stupid idea to do this over the phone and not sit down and talk it out face-to-face like proper adults or something, but he feels more courageous like this, lying on Cosette’s sofa and out of the reach of the sun-god’s wrath should he decide not to take the apology well. “That was shitty of me, and I know you were just trying to help.”

He’s met with silence. Again. Huh. The key to shutting Enjolras up is apparently apologizing. Who knew.

The silence stretches out. It’s almost getting embarrassing.

“Um, so I’m just gonna go…” he mumbles, ready to pull the phone away from his ear, when Enjolras finally speaks again.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” his voice is soft and low, and… and regretful. That’s the word. Grantaire’s heart stops, just for a second. “I acted despicably, all those days ago. I… Eponine pointed out to me that your affections for me had not come in the way of our friendship before, that you had never acted on them or even told me, or… that you had kept them to yourself, and wanted to continue doing so and me confronting you like that was badly done. And it was, it was low and selfish of me, but it is nothing compared to those other things I said to you.”

“I said some pretty bad things to you as well,” Grantaire interrupts, because he can’t have this conversation, he can’t, he can’t hear Enjolras _apologize_ , not when it’s not his fault, when Grantaire should just fucking stop feeling so much, because when has his feelings ever helped something along, and if he could just be better, could just stop messing up, Enjolras would not even have felt the need to speak to him about it.

“Nothing compared to what I said,” Enjolras says, and sounds like he means it. Grantaire is thankful that they are having this conversation on the phone and he doesn’t have to see the man’s eyes as he speaks. He hates that he isn’t there to see it as well. He’s being torn apart.

“It was horrible and unforgiveable, and none of it was true, Grantaire. I didn’t mean it, I… I lashed out, in anger and embarrassment, because I thought I knew your feelings better than you did, and because I am not well enough acquainted with my own. I said things to you I wouldn’t say to my worst enemy, but I said them to someone I consider a friend, and that’s… I’m so sorry. I really am. And I do understand if you would rather… if you would rather not speak to me again, after this.”

“No,” Grantaire says, way too fast, but he’s floating on cloud nine and about to start bawling like a baby, new words ringing in his ears, almost drowning out the old ones. He wonders if Enjolras practiced some of that speech in the mirror. He wonders if Eponine punched Enjolras, when she found out what he had done. He wonders if the other man would have allowed him to reach out and touch his hand, had they been sitting beside each other now.

“I didn’t… of course I still want to… I mean. Um. We’re still friends. Water under the bridge. Forgive and forget and all that jazz.” His mouth feels dry, and there are actual butterflies in his stomach. “I mean, I can forgive you, if you can forgive me.”

“Done,” Enjolras offers, and sounds impossibly happy, and _Grantaire did that,_ granted by messing up gloriously first, but he can imagine Enjolras smiling right now, and that is almost enough.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he mumbles, because he needs to drop dead from exhaustion, after telling Cosette all about this phone-call in immaculate detail. He’s probably going to have to hear about her phone-call with Marius as well. And then they can pass out together.

“Good,” no, it isn’t fair that Enjolras should sound so breathless when he says that, it absolutely isn’t. “Grantaire?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you really not… not remember anything?”

He feels cold, suddenly, and there’s an ache in his chest, in his shoulder and his neck. The points are too warm and not warm enough, and when he touches them he almost expects his fingers to come back wet and red.

“No. I don’t.”

Enjolras breathes in deeply. “We’ll work it out,” he whispers, and then abruptly hangs up. Grantaire lies completely still in silence. Then he gets up to go get Cosette.

 

*

 

“This is super fascinating.”

“Don’t be sarcastic.”

“No, really, it _is_ ,” Grantaire mumbles, making cross-eyes at the book in front of him. “I never knew this much about the Parisian sewer-system.”

“That was definitely sarcasm,” Eponine scolds, leaning over the table to look at his book. “Why are you reading about the sewer-system anyway?”

“It seemed the most fascinating.”

“You’re an idiot,” Cosette informs him from where she’s sitting on his other side. “Here it is,” she says, pointing to a section on the page. “June Rebellion, ’32, also called the Paris Uprising of ‘32. Oh, there are no names.”

“’Cause we all died,” Eponine dead-pans.

“You’re so nice.”

Eponine smiles widely. “I try.”

It confuses and fascinates Grantaire, how quickly these two women have started getting along with each other, considering that they’re both in love with the same man. But perhaps, in the face of a former life lived in happy marriage, Eponine has… given up a little. A little.

Grantaire would be sad for her, and he is sad that she is having her heart broken, but he is also a little relieved, because perhaps, this means Eponine can actually move on.

He reads over the few lines detailing the two-day long event that apparently killed him and 99% of his friends, all the while very much aware of the two females staring intently at him.

He finishes almost reluctantly, slowly raising his eyes.

“So?” Eponine asks, voice demanding.

“I think you should start wearing a top-hat.”

“You still don’t remember?” Cosette sounds so sad he almost wants to apologize, even though this is pretty much out of his control.

He shrugs. “I’m getting nothing.”

“We’re just going to have to do something else,” Eponine insists. “I’m sure, if we put our minds to it, we can sort this out.”

“There must be some kind of trigger,” Cosette agrees. “If just we knew what had made us remember, we could try to recreate the situation.”

“Well, Jehan remembered first, and he said he was walking in the park with Bahorel.”

“Doesn’t work, Bahorel and Courf already dragged me down there,” Grantaire says. “We walked around for almost two hours, it was ridiculous. Courfeyrac chatted up five different people, and Bahorel got chased by an angry Dalmatian. We’re banned from going back, I think.”

“We’re just going to have to keep trying,” Cosette says, optimistic and determined as always. Eponine is nodding along, however, and Grantaire is actually getting a little scared of what they might come up with together. He’s definitely not going to leave them alone with each other, without supervision.

His phone beeps, and his stomach does a flip when he sees it’s a text from Enjolras.

_Can you meet me at the Café in ten?_

He’s texted back a _sure_ before he can even think, because apparently he lacks as much control of his fingers as he does his mouth, and fuck, he’s going to have to leave Cosette and Eponine alone with each other.

“Please don’t try to take over the world while I’m gone,” Grantaire pleads, before running out of the library. The Café is almost half an hour away. Fuck.

He makes it in fifteen minutes however, because Cosette is a saint that lets him borrow her car, and he is so proud of himself for making Enjolras surprised that he didn’t come an hour or two late.

It isn’t until Grantaire is actually standing there, that he realizes _‘meet me at the Café’_ means exactly that, which is _‘I’ll be alone at the Café and you’ll come alone so we’ll be alone together’,_ which means none of the others are there to act as a buffer. The last time that happened didn’t go so well. Grantaire has to remember that they’d talked that out. Water under the bridge. Right.

“Sorry I’m late,” he babbles, wanting to say something and not look like a total idiot staring because he’s afraid of being alone with this ethereal creature that looks harmless (but really isn’t). “I was at the library with ‘Ponine and Cosette.”

Enjolras smiles, _actually smiles_ , at him, slow and soft, and it’s making Grantaire’s stomach do weird things, like back-flips and spins and other such Olympics. He sits down across from Enjolras, because he’s just realized that he’s still standing up like the complete moron he is.

“Studying?”

“Ha, no, the last time Eponine wanted help with her studies she ended up throwing the book at me. It isn’t my fault your material is so wrong, and the art-critics of today so biased. No, we were, um… well, the girls were showing history-books in my face, because they thought it might get me to, y’know, remember.”

The smile falls away, like a cloud passing over the sun. “Oh,” Enjolras mumbles. “Did it work?”

“Nope,” he says. Enjolras is good at hiding his emotions when he wants to, but Grantaire is a professional when it comes to this, especially for this man, so he sees the flicker of disappointment. “But they’re coming up with other things.”

“Do you have any idea… why?” Enjolras taps the side of his coffee-mug, as a waiter interrupts them, asking for Grantaire’s order. He ends up getting Jasmine-tea, and wonders when he’s going to start getting sick of the stuff.

“Why, out of everyone from Gavroche to Cosette’s dad, I’m the only one who doesn’t remember that we’ve all been reincarnated and used to live in Nineteenth-century Paris, trying to overthrow the government?”

Enjolras looks like he isn’t sure whether to be amused or exasperated. “Yes,” he says, smiling slightly again. Amused it is, then.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Disturbing childhood-memories. Clinical depression. Raging alcoholism. Take your pick.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Grantaire doesn’t need to hear this. Can’t hear more apologizing, not from him. “Your theory on this is as good as mine.”

“Did, um… did Cosette have any theories?”

Grantaire blinks in surprise at the mention of the girl. “Not really. Did you know her, back then I mean? She said she’d never met me, but…”

“No, I didn’t, I… ah, all of us only heard about her from Maris,” Enjolras makes a face that’s somewhere between composed and absolutely horrified, and Grantaire lets out a startled laugh.

“I can imagine.”

“You teased him quite vocally,” Enjolras is smiling as well now, tilting his head to the side as he looks at Grantaire. “He’d only known her for a short while and he was already going on and on. It was quite tiring, really.”

“Marius can be quite tiring,” Grantaire mumbles, still smiling but feeling a little uncomfortable about the subject. People and their silly affections…

“I’m… I’m sorry that you don’t remember,” Enjolras suddenly says, and Grantaire’s eyes snap back up to him. “It must be quite… discontenting.”

Grantaire doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say, really, except to maybe agree.

It is discontenting. It’s frightening. It’s… unreal.

Everything about all of this is unreal.

“But I was thinking,” Enjolras continues, clearly bothered by Grantaire’s lack of response, but moving ahead with the conversation anyway. “That we could… ehm, do something normal. So that you don’t feel left out… that’s stupid, I didn’t mean… I mean, it’s… it’s blending together for me, a lot as well. Sometimes it gets confusing and hard to recall exactly where and when I am. So doing something normal could maybe help settle things down a little.”

Grantaire tilts his head to the side. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Were you thinking demonstration or should we be handing out flyers again?”

 “I was thinking a movie,” Enjolras admits, almost shyly, and oh, that’s a cute look on him. “I _can_ do normal, fun things, you know.”

“Sorry, my mind immediately went _‘flyers_!’”

“Do I need to prove it to you? Let’s see, I bet you I can go a whole night without mentioning Robespierre or Hollande.”

“Ha!” Grantaire exclaims. “Impossible, surely!”

Enjolras grins back at him, the sunlight falling in through the window highlighting the gold in his hair.  
Grantaire thinks he has never been happier in his life.

“We shall see,” he says. “But I get to pick the movie.”

“Fair enough.”

“Shall we say tomorrow? It’s Friday, my classes finish early. Do you have a shift at the bar?”

“Not until Saturday,” Grantaire lies. He does have a shift tomorrow, but he’s been working overtime, his boss will allow him a little time off or to switch with someone else.

“Great, oh,” Enjolras says as his phone starts ringing. “I have to go, Combeferre is waiting for me. I’ll see you tomorrow? Seven o’clock?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire leans back, watching as Enjolras gets up and stretches after having been sitting down so long. “If you tell him, I’ll ask the other’s if they can come. Should I ask Cosette or would you prefer her to remain a mythical creature in Marius’ stories?”

Enjolras freezes, and stares at him, eyes wide and scarf half-way wrapped around his neck.

“The others? Uh…” he says, and then regains his composure. “Yeah, Um. Sure,” he nods quickly, getting his things. “I’ll see you.”

“See you,” Grantaire murmurs, staring after him as he leaves.

What exactly had just happened?

 

*

 

 _Enjolras sees him before he even speaks, and he is horrified and confused, as the non-believer shouts out: “Wait. Stop. Long Live the Republic._ Long live the Republic! _I am one of them.”_

_He’s… he doesn’t know what to say. He wishes to shout, to warn the other man off, to tell him to escape while he still can, why would he be so foolish as to die now, for a cause he spends most of his time mocking? But here he is, asking for the guards to take them both out with one blow, to…_

_To die with him._

_“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asks, and it cannot be the first time he has looked Enjolras straight in the eye, it cannot be, but it feels like it is._

_Grantaire’s eyes, he notices, are impossibly blue, like something out of a dream, and he suddenly has need to touch him, be certain that he is real and here with him._

_He nods and reaches out to take his hand, and he’s still holding on when the guns fire. He finds himself sad he has to let go after so short a while._

 

 

 


End file.
